


No Place Like It

by FannyT



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fic Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannyT/pseuds/FannyT
Summary: One thing that is becoming increasingly clear is that Magnus hasn’t lived with anyone else for a while.





	No Place Like It

Magnus likes to say that he hasn’t opened his heart up to anyone for a hundred years. It’s one of those things he says, just thrown out there, at the same time casual and almost frighteningly raw. Alec still hasn’t figured out how to respond to it—only knows that it makes him feel somehow stressed out but also warm all at once. 

He knows that Magnus has had other relationships in that time, of course, even if he downplays them. They’ve been casual and mostly brief, yes, but real. But one thing that is becoming increasingly clear is that Magnus hasn’t _lived_ with anyone else for a while. 

“Magnus!” he shouts, leaning away from one of the kitchen cabinets. “I could use some help in here.”

Magnus enters and laughs shortly. 

“Sorry, Alexander,” he says, waving his fingers to dispel the purple fire spouting from one of the shelves. “Forgot about that one.”

“What was it even for?”

“Old experiment; you can just leave it. I’ll clean that up later.” Magnus gestures to the bowls Alec is holding. “Those go in the bottom drawer. Thank you for washing up.”

He leans in to give Alec a peck on the cheek and then walks back out to the potion he was busy with before, leaving Alec smiling to himself—and trying to ignore the tendrils of smoke still oozing lilac and blue out of the cabinet.

* * *

Alec puts his toothbrush back in its glass and reaches out for a towel, then sighs. 

“Just a moment,” Magnus says, flicking a wrist and sending one flying over. 

“Do you use magic for _everything_?” Alec asks. “Or is this some kind of training regimen? Daily charms to keep in magical shape?”

“Hahaha,” Magnus says, sarcastic but still seemingly amused. He’s putting on eyeliner, leaning carefully into the mirror, and the steadiness of his hand despite the casual waving of magic is really impressive. “I just didn’t have the space for the towel rack anywhere closer to the sink.”

“You could probably fit a single hook somewhere,” Alec suggests, grinning, then sweeps a hand to encompass the very large number of shelves around the mirror, crammed with bottles and boxes. “Although I’m not sure about that. How many of these products do you actually _use_?”

“You say that like you think I haven’t noticed you using my lotion,” Magnus says archly, and Alec has to laugh at that, caught.

* * *

“Should I water the flowers?” Alec asks, looking out over the terrace. “Or do you have some automatic magical system in place for them?”

“It’s charming how much faith you place in my abilities,” Magnus replies, placing his arm around Alec and giving him a squeeze. 

“Considering I saw you find someone’s grandfather using a sprig of rosemary yesterday, I feel like that was justified.” 

Magnus smiles back at him, and Alec can feel his pulse speed up, his body tingling everywhere Magnus is touching him. He still can’t believe it sometimes, that he gets to be here. Standing out here in the open, holding Magnus so casually. 

“OK, so they do need to be watered. Is there anything I should think about?” he continues, and Magnus takes a step to the side, drawing a breath. 

“Yes, just a few details. Green watering can is for everything in terracotta pots, except for the spices on the second balcony. That one should only have regular water. The black can should have half a spoonful of the mixture in the blue jar to every liter of water. The bromeliad should not be watered until after noon, and don’t touch the ivy without gloves, but you can give the philodendron—actually, you know what?” he interrupts himself, smiling. “How about I do it for now, and you can pick up their quirks along the way.”

He takes one of the watering cans and starts moving among the different pots, humming softly to himself. Alec watches him, smiling, until a sharp snap from one of the large angel trumpets makes him look around sharply. 

“Um,” he says, pointing. “Does that one bite?”

“Only in winter,” Magnus replies distractedly, still humming.

* * *

Alec sits down gingerly on the bed and puts a hand on Magnus’s shoulder. It was after three when Magnus got in last night, yawning and slightly bitter after a meeting with one of the warlock community’s border experts—Spencer, Alec thinks—that dragged out way past time. 

“What time is it?” Magnus murmurs, rolling over and rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Eight. Sorry, but you said you wanted me to wake you when I was leaving. Here.” Alec hands over the cup of coffee he prepared—after a few false starts, he’s finally learning how to work the machine. 

(Well, somewhat. He hasn’t dared attempt the milk frother yet.)

“No, that’s right. I need to get up. Ooh, thank you.” Magnus takes the coffee and sits up, squinting smiling back at Alec. His hair is completely flattened on one side, causing his usual hairdo to skew to one side, and he looks barely awake and absolutely beautiful. “So how’s the day looking for you?” 

Alec shrugs. “Just meetings and standard recon missions on the agenda. So barring any Clary disasters, I should be home around seven.”

Magnus seems to hesitate at that, and for a moment Alec worries that the comment about Clary offended—Magnus has always had a soft spot for her. But then he grins again, apparently taking it for the humour it was meant as. 

“In that case, I’ll book us a table at that Parisian place at eight,” he suggests, sitting up a little straighter. “Sound good?”

“That’ll be great. Looking forward to it.” Alec clears his throat. “Sorry, I have to get going.”

“Come here, then,” Magnus says, puckering demonstratively. 

“Haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” Alec warns, and Magnus laughs back at him. 

“I’ll risk it.”

Magnus tastes like coffee, and he still smells of that weird perfume Spencer saturates her place with, and Alec is the luckiest man in the world. 

“See you later, then,” he says, feeling better words elude him, as they so often do. 

“Have a good day,” Magnus says, smiling at him. “And I’ll see you back, um, here.”

Standing in the bathroom a minute later, reflecting that he should pick up toothpaste on his way back from the Institute, Alec suddenly realises what might have caused Magnus to pause earlier. 

He reaches out automatically to his right, and to his surprise encounters a towel, hanging from a newly placed hook. He buries his face in it, smiling to himself. 

_Home_ , he thinks, the word glowing with happy promise. 

 

_The End_


End file.
